


A Struck Wire

by gillasue345



Category: Supernatural
Genre: 9x06 speculation, Gen, Hurt!Cas, M/M, Pre-Slash, caretaker!Dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-08
Updated: 2013-11-08
Packaged: 2017-12-31 20:17:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1035953
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gillasue345/pseuds/gillasue345
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He couldn't fight the way he used to, with disregard towards his vessel—his body—not anymore. He had to worry about cuts and bruises and pain. Surprising things like rain made his knees ache in a way that was unfamiliar to him, reminding him that his vessel was aging. That he was aging. One day he would die.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Struck Wire

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mishcollin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mishcollin/gifts).



> this was written for mishcollin, who asked for Cas to break down. I'm not super duper happy with it, but I hope you like it!
> 
> Thanks for the prompt!

Cas was shaking, but he didn’t know why. He thought about this as they both sat quietly in his dining room. It was not the kind of shaking he’d come to associate with being cold, no. In fact, he was actually quite warm. Two bright red spots of color rose across his cheek; he could feel the heat pulsing in time to his rapid heartbeat, a product of unspent adrenaline and exertion.

His entire body was vibrating; a struck wire on a harpsichord, still trembling long after the sound had faded away. He was numb to all else but the echo of adrenaline, the shaking of his fingers, and his forearms, and his toes.

Dean moved quickly before him, his shoulders tense as he did the best he could to stitch Cas up. The desperate way Dean wiped away the pooling blood at his wrist struck a chord with Cas and broke through his abstraction.

And then, all at once everything hurt. In the melee of the fight, he’d forgotten—for just a moment—that he wasn’t an angel anymore. He was just a human. He was weak, fragile and _useless_. He couldn’t fight the way he used to, with disregard towards his vessel—his _body_ —not anymore. He had to worry about cuts and bruises and pain. Surprising things like rain made his knees ache in a way that was unfamiliar to him, reminding him that his vessel was aging. That he was aging. One day he would die.

Maybe even today, he thought dispassionately, looking down at the blood covering his arm. His wrist was slashed badly. He’d moved to parry the angel’s blade but instead of blocking the blow, his arm had taken the brunt of the attack. His heartbeat was slowing. That should probably worry him, but he couldn’t move. He was tired.

A small sound that could have been a whimper escaped him and he bit down hard on his bottom lip, desperately trying to distract himself from the fire in his chest from every breath taken with broken ribs.

“You’re losing too much blood, Cas.” Dean’s voice cracked. “Here, put pressure on it. We’re going to the hospital.”

“I don’t want to go to the hospital, Dean.”

It would be better to just die right now. He wouldn’t be a burden for Dean anymore. He wouldn’t be worthless. He _might_ even be missed.

He could go home. That thought brought him up short. Did he even want to go home?

“I don’t give a rat’s ass what you want Cas, I can’t stitch this up. You need more help than I can give you.”

“Do you want to know what I need Dean? I need purpose, order. I need to matter!”

Moving too quickly for Dean to process, Cas pushed himself to his feet, ignoring the burn in his chest, and the sudden surge of blood as it dripped down is wrist. He knocked Dean, who was crouched in front of him, on his ass. All the air whooshed out of Dean with a grunt, but Cas didn’t care.

“I used to be more powerful than you could even conceive! I used to save you! And now? No I am reduced to a pathetic failure, too weak to even defend myself!”

With an almighty roar, Castiel toppled the small kitchen table, laden with bandages, whiskey, lore books, needles, thread. The bottle shattered with a satisfying clash. Dean flinched.

“Dammit Cas! What the hell man?” Dean yelled. “You’re going to kill yourself!”

“Exactly!” Cas threw an empty beer bottle across the room, smashing it against the wall. “I used to heal! I used to have power. I mattered enough that God himself brought me back to life! Now something as innocuous a loose nail on a floorboard can actually _hurt_ me!”

“Cas—”

“Shut up! You could _never_ understand this Dean. You’ve always been human. You’ve always been weak!”

Dean’s face changed then, and Cas, so used to documenting Dean’s emotions, was brought up short. Distantly, he began to feel dizzy.

“I’m weak, Cas?” he nodded slowly. “You’re right. I am weak. That’s what it means to be human. You know what else makes us human? The ability to accept help,” Dean stood slowly, moving into Castiel’s personal space.

“Come on Cas, let me take care of you,” Dean whispered, his face far too close to Castiel.

Cas swayed lightly on his feet; suddenly there were two Deans. Just before he fell, blackness surrounding his vision, he felt arms around his torso, a flash of pain, and then nothing.

_Oblivion_ , he thought, _safety_ , right before he passed out.

****

Castiel woke up to the incessant beeping of a hospital machine. He opened his eyes, and his vision blurred for moment before they alighted on Dean sprawled out in the uncomfortable hospital chairs, his head resting against the back. His neck was crooked to the side and his mouth was open as he slept in what must have been extreme discomfort.

Cas took a moment to assess his injuries. Everywhere hurt but in a fuzzy way, like the majority of pain was being withheld by the drugs he could feel coursing sluggishly though his veins.

He looked down at his wrist, which was now heavily bandaged. It throbbed with every heartbeat, and when he adjusted his hand, a sharp pain flashed through the crook of his elbow, where an IV was inserted.

It still hurt to breath, but he could feel the binding around his torso that seemed to hold him together.

He tried adjust his position, turning toward Dean onto his good side. The relief of pressure on his chest was immediate.

For a moment, he just watched Dean as he slept.

_Let me take care of you,_ Dean had said as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Cas watched as Dean’s eyelids fluttered; the space between his brows was furrowed, his shoulders were held tight, his hands were clenched.

What was Dean dreaming? It wasn’t the first time Cas had wondered this. He closed his eyes, pushing his thought out, wanting to see, to soothe his nightmares. When nothing happened, he realized that he wasn’t able to do that anymore. He couldn’t soothe Dean’s dream anymore.

So he did the next best thing.

“Dean,” he said clearly. Dean snapped awake, sitting bolt upright in his seat.

“Dammit Cas, that is not how you wake someone up,”

Cas furrowed his brow. How else was he supposed to wake someone up?

“Then how do you suggest I do so in future?”

Dean shrugged, cracking his neck to the side and groaning.

“I don’t know,” he said. He leaned forward then, pressing his hands together on top of Cas’ bed. “How’re you feeling?”

Cas chuckled lightly. “I’ll live,” he said

Dean nodded like he was agreeing with him. “Damn right you will, but how are you feeling really?”

“I could use some more pain medication,” he admitted, ashamed.

“Ribs?”

Cas nodded. Dean lifted the morphine button on Cas’ side, and pressed it once.

“How many are broken anyway?”

“Four, one in two places, but they were most concerned about your wrist though.”

“Why?”

“You nicked an artery. Even they were surprised that you survived the trip to the hospital, especially since you certainly didn’t help yourself any by throwing a hissy fit as I was trying to stitch you up,” his voice had turned accusatory by the end, his eyebrows raised in admonishment.

Cas looked down. “I suppose I was upset.”

Dean looked down at his hands.

“I get it man, I do. You’re pissed at the world and there’s nothing you can do ‘bout that but get through it, with help”

Cas sighed. “I thought I had accepted it. I thought I was _okay_.” He was surprised when his voice cracked, even more so when his eyes filled up with tears and his breath hitched.

He looked away from Dean then, staring up at the blurred drop ceiling. He counted the dots, trying to calm his breathing as every gasp brought a new burst of pain in his chest.

Hot tears fell down the sides of his face, settling in the shell of his ear. This is what it felt like to cry.

Suddenly there was a warmth in his palm and he looked down to see that Dean had grabbed his hand. He looked at Dean. In the false fluorescent lighting, his eyes, as familiar to him as his own, were a heavy sort of green, playing off of the brown in his heavy plaid shirt, like whiskey in front of a burning fire. He had to look away else they overwhelm him.

“Don’t cry Cas,” he whispered brokenly. “It’ll be okay.”

“How can it be okay Dean?”

“You’re alive Cas,” Dean whispered.

“I’m useless,”

Dean moved so quickly that Cas didn’t catch it, suddenly he wasn’t counting the dots in the ceiling tiles anymore. Dean had gripped his chin in his hand, forcing him to turn and face him.

“You are not _worthless_ Cas.” Dean’s eyes flashed, angry.

Tears leaked out of the corner of Cas’ too blue eyes. “Then why didn’t you want me to stay?” The anger in Dean’s eyes dissipated just as quickly as it had come. “You’ve only ever prayed for me to stay, but then… then I lost my grace. I wasn’t any use to you anymore.”

His tears were coming more quickly now, blurring his vision. The pain was starting to wear off too, the drugs taking effect, giving everything a surreal sort of edge.

“Damn it that was my deal. It wasn’t anything you did or didn’t do Cas,” Dean ran a frustrated hand through his hair.

“Then why?”

Cas’ eyelids started to droop, but he was determined to stay awake. He needed to know Dean’s answer.

“Dean, tell me why I couldn’t stay.”

“Because I screwed up Cas,” Dean said, and he drew his fingers down his cheeks, brushing away the tears he hadn’t meant to shed.

Cas composed himself, sniffing. “How?”

“I… I made a deal that I am beginning to realize I shouldn’t have made.”

Cas felt the beginnings of apprehension settle in the pit of his stomach.

“Who did you make a deal with Dean?”

“I… I can’t tell you that, Cas,”

“Why not?”

“It was for Sam,”

With his remaining strength, Cas sat up until his back was against the uncomfortable headboard of his hospital bed. His IV pulled and he winced. Immediately, Dean sat up, putting more distance between them. That was his way of telling Cas to let it go, to drop it. But he didn’t want to.

He turned his body towards Dean, ignoring the stab of pain in his chest. “Talk to me, Dean.”

Something in Dean broke then. His gaze dropped to Cas’ lips, something he often did when he was nervous.

“I tricked Sam,” Dean said. “I tricked him into saying yes to Ezekiel, into getting possessed by an angel so he could heal. How could I do that to him?”

“Oh Dean,” Castiel whispered.

“If I tell him, Cas… if I tell him, he could eject him. And he will die.”

“Dean—” The floodgates were opened now though, and Dean cut him off.

“And now I’m not so sure he’s a good guy. I just don’t know. Because he healed Sam. And then he healed you and Charlie, but then he made you go away, that you were a threat even though the bunker is the safest place for you, and he says he’s too weak to leave him Cas,” Dean’s voice broke.

He looked up then. And Cas’ heart swelled with an emotion he did not recognize yet. “You did the best you could, Dean.”

“No, I did what was best for me. I couldn’t let him go,” Dean brushed his tears away. “I took his agency away.”

Cas gripped Dean’s hand tight. “You did it because you love him. He’s your brother, your family.”

“God, look at us, talking about our feelings like a bunch of friggin’ girls,”

“It’s perfectly normal to talk about feelings Dean, you’re just too broken to realize it yet.”

Dean laughed. “Well don’t sugarcoat it Cas,”

“Do I ever?”

“I suppose not,” Dean hesitated before moving forward. He pulled Cas into an awkward one armed hug, careful to avoid his injured side. He didn’t think about the way his body fit together with Cas’. That was dangerous territory. He didn’t think about how soft Cas’ hair was against his cheek.

Instead he pulled away.

Cas decided to change the subject.

“How long do I have to stay here?” he asked.

“Just until tomorrow. Doc’s worried about your wrist.”

Cas nodded. “Dean?”

“Yeah?”

“When can I come home?”

Dean’s face fell. “I don’t know, buddy.”

Cas nodded. “I will wait patiently then.”

 

 

 

 


End file.
